Okay, I admit it: today I felt good about our erring on the side of extra caution during the pandemic. We do it because we can, of course. We no longer have work obligations. We live alone. But we do it, too, because we believe in our safe protocols. They're good for us and they're also good for all those whom we deliberately avoid. Weird how avoiding someone, anyone actually, can be a positive these days, but then everything about this year is really weird. To put it gently.
Another admission: we were up very late at night. Ed often takes a break from sleeping right between midnight and three and of course, he clicked on the news and then we were both up reading and talking. So I was a reluctant waker upper. Still, one has to feed the animals...
And, too, I admit it, we still appear to be very much engaged in the kitty hunt. This morning, the future owner of Elsie texted us. (Elsie is a very clever new name she gave to our Cutie, as it is another way of saying LC -- which stands for Lost Cat.) Yesterday, Ed and I had set a trap near a cornfield, in the area where she was purportedly last seen. A cat was caught alright, just not the cat. The future owner released the poor animal and asked if we may want to move the trap. She herself was in a hurry to get to work.
So, after breakfast...
Ed and I once again set out for Stoughton. This time we have the cooperation of the Garden Center to place the trap closer to where this cat, possibly Elsie was often spotted. We still think it's a longshot, because there seem to be dozens of cats roaming the town of Stoughton and they all really do resemble our girl.
Too, we go back to last night's search in a neighborhood nearer to us -- one which I never even knew existed. If you go on a cat hunt, you learn a lot about housing developments within a twenty mile radius of where you live.
(On our drive home, a view of the beautiful clouds... they look like venticular, or saucer clouds, but are they that? we are far from any mountains...)
At home again. The afternoon is threatening to degenerate into a reading marathon once again, so Ed proposes that we take a break for a lesson on how to dance the Irish jig. He thinks it may come in handy someday.
We watch youtube videos. I follow instructions. In slo mo, it's doable, but put it to Irish music and I'm panting.
Can you find a jig for slower moving people?
Hmm. I'm thinking that I better put some dance into my everyday or else I may never jig again.
Late afternoon and I am nowhere near my stepping goal. I pace the courtyard. I walk from kitchen to living room and back again, many times. This adds shockingly few steps to my tally. Fine. Out I go for an around the barn in eighty days walk. Next time, we'll hunt for Elsie longer and further, whether or not there is even a wee chance of her being found. I need the steps!
Another admission: we were up very late at night. Ed often takes a break from sleeping right between midnight and three and of course, he clicked on the news and then we were both up reading and talking. So I was a reluctant waker upper. Still, one has to feed the animals...
And, too, I admit it, we still appear to be very much engaged in the kitty hunt. This morning, the future owner of Elsie texted us. (Elsie is a very clever new name she gave to our Cutie, as it is another way of saying LC -- which stands for Lost Cat.) Yesterday, Ed and I had set a trap near a cornfield, in the area where she was purportedly last seen. A cat was caught alright, just not the cat. The future owner released the poor animal and asked if we may want to move the trap. She herself was in a hurry to get to work.
So, after breakfast...
Ed and I once again set out for Stoughton. This time we have the cooperation of the Garden Center to place the trap closer to where this cat, possibly Elsie was often spotted. We still think it's a longshot, because there seem to be dozens of cats roaming the town of Stoughton and they all really do resemble our girl.
Too, we go back to last night's search in a neighborhood nearer to us -- one which I never even knew existed. If you go on a cat hunt, you learn a lot about housing developments within a twenty mile radius of where you live.
(On our drive home, a view of the beautiful clouds... they look like venticular, or saucer clouds, but are they that? we are far from any mountains...)
At home again. The afternoon is threatening to degenerate into a reading marathon once again, so Ed proposes that we take a break for a lesson on how to dance the Irish jig. He thinks it may come in handy someday.
We watch youtube videos. I follow instructions. In slo mo, it's doable, but put it to Irish music and I'm panting.
Can you find a jig for slower moving people?
Hmm. I'm thinking that I better put some dance into my everyday or else I may never jig again.
Late afternoon and I am nowhere near my stepping goal. I pace the courtyard. I walk from kitchen to living room and back again, many times. This adds shockingly few steps to my tally. Fine. Out I go for an around the barn in eighty days walk. Next time, we'll hunt for Elsie longer and further, whether or not there is even a wee chance of her being found. I need the steps!
